


Paint me Like your French Girls

by slaughtermom



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F, a short little batch of cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15042995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaughtermom/pseuds/slaughtermom
Summary: This is a short little drabble I wrote for a friend on the Tumblr based on a draw me like you French Girls prompt. Grace and Frankie are my favorite old lady lesbians so I'm going to start posting anything substantial I write in a collection.





	Paint me Like your French Girls

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short little drabble I wrote for a friend on the Tumblr based on a draw me like you French Girls prompt. Grace and Frankie are my favorite old lady lesbians so I'm going to start posting anything substantial I write in a collection.

The room smelled of paint and something floral. Grace’s perfume more likely. Frankie liked it in as much as she could smell over the acrylics.

“We’re going to end up high.” She remarked over top canvas to her very naked and very much a prude model.

“No,” Grace repeated. “We’re not opening the windows. What if…” her voice lowered in horror “what if someone dropped by.”

“They’d be very impressed. You’re a handsome woman Grace.” Frankie grinned. “More so when your cheeks match your – ”

“Oh I will strangle you.”

Frankie raised her hands in a gesture of peace. It would hardly be the first time she hot boxed herself and for this opportunity it was more than worth it. Who knew a late night watch of Titanic, complete with yelling at there being more than enough room for Jack and Rose on that door, would lead to Grace lounged across her floor couch with wearing nothing more than her favored set of pearls and the strict promise that whatever she made never saw the light of day or worse a showing.

“You can talk Grace, I’m painting not taking a picture.”

“You talk enough for both of us.”

“I can’t argue there,” she replied, mouth twisting into grimace as she moved charcoal across canvas.

Grace’s brow rose. “Changed your mind?” She asked half full of hope.

Frankie threw down her charcoal in disgust before raking dirty hands across her face. It left track marks studiously ignored as she stalked across the little studio (in as much as someone in full kaftan could) to squat in front Grace.

“You’re too stiff.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Your body is too stiff. I might as well be painting a mannequin. You need to relax. You’re a French girl, pretend you just had sex and a good smoke.”

“Frankie”

“Do you need me to get you blunt? We’d have to open the windows. Or I could-”

“ _Frankie_ ” Grace repeated, sighing as her roommate launched into more obscure remedies for her stiffness.

“I can make a pitcher of martinis or even some green tea. It’s not alcoholic but really– ”

“FRANKIE!”

“Jesus Christ” Hand over her heart and ass firmly on the ground from her startle, she gave a nonplussed stare. “Yes Grace.”

“Kiss me.” The words were spoken without any of the business woman’s normal aplomb. The newness of their relationship, the awkwardness of new lovers despite their age putting a shyness in the words.

“Oh,” Frankie thought for a moment before standing up to pull the long sheaf of kaftan up over her head.

It surprised Grace not in the least to find the dark haired woman completely nude underneath it.

“Do you even own a bra?”

Frankie grinned, dropping back to haunches to kiss her. “Not a one. Burnt them all in the seventies.”


End file.
